14
The ceremony passes by in a blur of I dos and happy tears, and the moment is simply too joyful for me to focus on anything besides the lovefest happening right in front of my eyes. But as I make my way back down the aisle, exiting the ceremony and catching a glimpse of Matthew on the way out, it becomes impossible to ignore the looming conversation that’s been brewing. And so when I ask Jamie and Ethan if they want to break away from the cocktail hour and sneak into the empty ballroom for some celebratory shots before the reception officially begins, it isn’t entirely without an agenda.
The tequila burns my throat as Ethan waterfalls the liquid into my mouth.
I bite into a slice of lime before I have the chance to gag.
“So are you gonna tell us what’s happening with you and the photographer?” Jamie asks.
My entire face twists into a grimace from the sour taste.
“I’m not even feeling buzzed.” I avoid answering her question and instead gesture toward the bottle Ethan stole from behind the unmanned bar.
“I need another.”
“Are you sure?” Jamie asks, wiping a dribble of tequila from her mouth with the back of her hand. “You said that about the last one. And the one before that.”
“Of course.” I grab the bottle from Ethan, who, up until this point, has been the sole dispenser of the shots. “I can handle my alcohol. I’ve been doing this much longer than you two have.”
I take a giant swig, at least double the size of Ethan’s tiny pours, schooling my expression into one of indifference. “I’m actually starting to
appreciate the taste of alcohol as I get older.”
I bend down to rub an imaginary scuff off my heel, using my hair as a blanket to hide behind as I try not to vomit up all the crab cakes I housed a few minutes ago.
“I need everyone to have a good time tonight.” Ethan throws his arm around Jamie. “And if that means Phoebe knocking back five shots within a minute, so be it.”
Jamie nods but takes the bottle from my hands and puts it back in its spot behind the bar nonetheless. She grabs Ethan’s hand.
“We should go back out.” She pulls Ethan toward the doorway that leads to the hall where everyone’s gathered in the interim. “I want fifteen more of those tuna tartare cones.”
“You guys go ahead.” I usher them forward. “I’m just going to play around with the table settings for a second before everyone floods in here.”
I force myself to take three deep breaths as the door closes behind them, and then quickly grab my phone from the empty janitor’s closet, where I stashed it before the ceremony.
I have a missed call from Jonathan, followed by a few texts from him.
Jonathan:
Just checking in
Wanted to hear your voice
Miss you
I skim through some of the messages from the group chat, too.
Meg:
Noah and I have been texting:)
Alex:
If it can’t be me I’m glad it’s you.
Meg:
I think I really like him!
Phoebe, has Finn said anything?
And can you please send us some wedding pictures?
Nora:
Ugh, so excited for you, Meg
And so jealous
Dog Dad was a complete dud
Meg:
No!
Nora:
Phoebe, please send
pictures of you in your dress to cheer me up
Front and back
Jonathan:
Phoebe??
How’s it going??
Alex:
Earth to Phoebe?
No matter the occasion, it’s highly unlike me not to answer my friends.
Especially Jonathan. Ever since I somehow managed to text him a selfie in the middle of getting my wisdom teeth removed, it’s been a running joke that there’s no event big enough to keep me from my phone. But in this moment, I find myself too overwhelmed to respond. I’ll be sure to check in with them later. As for now, there’s only one text I’m capable of sending.
Phoebe:
Can I call you?
My phone starts ringing within seconds, and I pick up on the first ring.
“Hi, Sandy.”
“Phoebe. Is everything okay?”
I’ve made it clear to Sandy that I’ll only ever call in the case of a true emergency, so the edge of concern in her voice is warranted. The last time I requested a phone call was from the ER waiting room, after taking an edible, looking at my reflection under fluorescent lighting, and diagnosing myself with yellow fever.
My head starts to swim from the tequila, and I will myself to focus on the
crisis at hand.
“Matthew is here.”
“Wordle Matthew?”
“Yes.”
“He’s where?”
“Here! At the wedding!”
“Wordle Matthew is at your sister’s wedding?”
“Wordle Matthew is at my sister’s wedding.”
“Did you invite him?”
“He’s the photographer. My mom hired him. She had no idea. I had no idea. He had no idea.”
“Wow. This sounds like the beginning of a beautiful—”
“Sandy,” I cut her off. “I was supposed to see him this weekend. But I told him I had to cancel my trip. I lied. And now he’s here,” I say with a sigh, thinking about the way he looked at me earlier. “And I think he’s upset.”
“I can understand that.”
“What do I do?”
“The only thing you can do.”
“Call an Uber?”
“No.” She chuckles. “Tell him the truth.”
“What’s the truth?” I’m so used to lying as a means to conceal my anxiety that I’m not even sure what being honest about this would look like.
“You tell me,” she says. “Pretend I’m Matthew. I’m upset and confused about why you lied to avoid seeing me. Tell me the truth about what happened.”
“Okay…” I squeeze my eyes shut and picture Matthew in front of me.
The outline of his glasses materializes in the darkness behind my eyelids.
“Matthew. The thought of going on a date with you makes me want to throw
up.”
Silence.
“Sandy?”
“I’m here.”
“That was bad, wasn’t it.”
“Let’s try again.”
“Okay.” I close my eyes, conjure the image of Matthew’s sweet face, and clear my throat. “Matthew. I have anxiety, and the thought of going out with you makes me nervous. I panicked when the time came to actually plan something, so I lied to you about canceling my trip, and I’m sorry.”
For the first time today, a small sense of relief floods my chest. I barely get a chance to revel in the feeling before it’s replaced by an avalanche of
shame.
“How did saying that feel?” Sandy asks.
“Embarrassing.”
“You have nothing to be ashamed of, Phoebe.”
I do, though. Being too nervous to go on a date at my age and then lying to cover it up? It’s objectively mortifying. I can’t tell him the truth. I just can’t.
The room fills with the sounds of various instruments tuning up as the band preps in the corner. Guests should start flooding in here any minute.
“Okay. I’ll figure it out. Thanks, Sandy.”
“Please try and enjoy yourself tonight.”
“I’ll try. See you Monday.” I pause, looking at the doors, painfully aware of who’s on the other side. “If I live through this.”
“I’ll definitely see you Monday, Phoebe.”
I end the call and consider responding to my friends, but decide it’s best to put my phone away and try to enjoy the moment.
—
“Thank you sooo much.” I smile at the waiter while plucking what has to be my fourth flute of champagne off his tray. I take a gulp, keeping the liquid in my mouth for a few extra seconds so I can feel the fizz dance around on my tongue. “Yum,” I say to no one in particular. I sway to the band’s cover of “My Girl,” by the Temptations. To my right, Ethan dips Jamie so low that her hair brushes against the floor. Her giggles remind me of champagne bubbles.
To my right, Dad spins Mom in circles until she insists that she’s going to have a vertigo episode. I smile into my glass as I take another sip.
“Peebee!” A breathless Aunt Carol comes running toward me. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”
My mind quickly jumps to the worst-case scenario: that she’s about to ambush me with the boy I’ve managed to successfully avoid since the
reception started an hour ago.
But then I remember: I’m a lesbian.
“This is Dee.” She claps, stepping aside to reveal a petite blond waitress with a pixie cut and high cheekbones. I’ll give it to Aunt Carol, Dee is gorgeous.
“Hello, Dee.” I stick out my hand and she shakes it.
“Hi!” She smiles sweetly, and Aunt Carol winks at me before backing away.
I cut right to the chase, grabbing Dee’s hand in an effort to let her down gently. She looks down at our clasped hands, brows raised.
“Dee,” I sigh. “I’m so sorry, but I’m not interested in women.”
“Oh.” She gently removes her hand from mine. “That’s okay. I’m not, either.”
“You’re not? Then why did my aunt bring you over here?”
“I have no idea.” She shrugs. “All she said was that she”—Dee lifts both hands to form air quotes with her fingers—“ ‘loves my vibe.’ And that she wanted to introduce me to her niece.”
“Ah.” I nod. “Sorry about that. My aunt thinks everyone is gay. Myself included. It’s a whole thing.”
“It’s all right,” she says, chuckling, while tucking a small tuft of blond hair behind an ear full of perfectly curated tiny gold hoops. “For what it’s worth, I think we’d make a cute couple.”
I catch myself blushing, flattered that someone as effortlessly cool as Dee
could feel that way about me.
I like her.
“So…you’re not even a little gay?” I joke, feeling emboldened by the alcohol. I close my eyes for a second, trying to picture what it would be like to kiss Dee. But my mind wanders.
Matthew’s hand caressing the bare skin of my back.
I try again, squeezing my eyes shut tighter.
Matthew pushing up his glasses with his index finger.
A silver ring.
Dee’s chuckle brings me back to reality. “Not since I last checked.” She glances over her shoulder and raises her eyebrows toward the back of the room. I follow her gaze to…Oh no. “I’m actually kind of feeling the photographer.”
Red-hot rage burns every inch of my skin.
I take a step back, blinking once, twice, three times, in rapid succession.
“You don’t think he’s cute?” she asks, noticing the shift in my demeanor.
I know that I have absolutely no right to feel this way. Like I have any claim on Matthew whatsoever, especially given the circumstances. But even so, the thought of Dee going anywhere near him makes me want to vomit.
Especially because she is the type of girl Matthew should be with. The type of girl the Smiths wrote songs about.
No one’s ever written a song about a girl who collects barf bags. And no one ever will.
I press my champagne glass to my cheek, willing the chill to ground me.
“I do,” I tell Dee. “We are…friends. I guess.”
“Ah…” Dee gives me a knowing look and smiles. “Understood.” She lifts both hands up, a sign of surrender. I smile back at her, feeling guilty about the string of violent urges I was having just a few seconds ago but grateful for her backing down nonetheless.
I should thank Aunt Carol for introducing me to Dee. It may not be the love connection that she intended, but now I know that even though the thought of explaining myself to Matthew makes me sick, the thought of losing him to someone else makes me sicker.
No more avoiding. No more lying.
“It was nice meeting you,” I tell Dee, downing the rest of my almost-full glass and beelining straight over to Matthew before I lose the courage, stopping only to grab another flute from a serving tray.
“Hi,” I say as I approach him in the back corner of the room, where he sits on the edge of the windowsill. I watch, mesmerized, as his thumbs mess around with the buttons on his camera. At the sound of my voice, he looks up.
“Hey.” The corner of his mouth quirks up slightly. His eyes have softened since we last spoke. I position myself directly in front of him and lightly kick his foot with my own.
“I don’t know why I just did that,” I confess.
“You’re drunk,” he says with a chuckle.
“I’m slightly tipsy,” I correct him.
He reaches out and grabs my hips. “You’re swaying.”
My breath hitches in my throat at the feeling of his hands on me. “I’m not swaying. The room is moving.”
And then he smiles. A beaming, lopsided, perfect smile.
I sit down next to him and start to cry.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, a slightly panicked edge to his voice. “What
did I say?”
My knee bounces up and down nervously.
“You didn’t say anything wrong,” I tell him, and the words start spilling out. “You’re so great, Matthew, and I’m so sorry that I lied to you.”
My head swims as I try to recall the speech I rehearsed with Sandy on the phone earlier. It all comes out in a breathless jumble.
“I have this thing. This anxiety. I get nervous about dates. In a pukey sort of way that is not at all attractive.”
My leg stops shaking, and I realize it’s because Matthew’s hand is on my knee, steadying it. I will myself to keep going, despite this burning distraction.
“That’s why I lied to you. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to see you. It’s because I get too panicky. I understand if you want to stop talking to me. You deserve someone who will show up. Someone like Dee.”
I breathe, finally. Matthew stares at me inquisitively, brow furrowed, probably trying to figure out how it’s taken him so long to realize I am insane.
Casually, as if I haven’t just revealed myself to be a complete freak of nature, he reaches out and wraps his hand around my upper arm, running a calloused thumb across Bev. My heart shoots to my throat, and I almost have trouble responding when he asks, “Who’s Dee?”
The room spins slightly as I survey it to find her.
“Over there.” I point to the petite blonde restocking her tray of drinks at the bar. “She told me she thought you were cute. You should be with someone like her.”
He cocks his head to the side, squinting at me. “But I don’t like Dee, Phoebe. I like you.”
Champagne bubbles float around my stomach.
I don’t like Dee, Phoebe. I like you.
“But did you hear what I said?” I ask. “About panicking? And the puking?”
“Yes.” He chuckles. “I heard you. I wish you had just told me that to begin with. We could have figured something out. And if you think about it, this isn’t much different than a date right now, is it? Just two people talking.
And you’re completely fine.”
“That’s because I’m drunk,” I tell him. Which is true. I’d probably have run off by now if my body wasn’t primarily composed of alcohol. I should be
taking advantage of this drunken burst of confidence. After all, I haven’t
ruined this.
There’s still a chance.
“Come with me.” I stand, grabbing Matthew’s hand and pulling him to his feet.
“Where are we going?” he asks, looking at me apprehensively but still following my lead.
I guide him to the empty janitor’s closet, ushering him inside and closing the door quickly.
“Phoebe…” he starts, but before he can finish, I’m on my tippy-toes, my hands on either side of his face, pulling his lips to mine.
He pulls away before we make contact.
“Phoebe, no.” He takes my hands in his, lowering them back to my sides while shaking his head. “Not like this.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, gesturing to the shelf full of toilet paper and cleaning supplies adjacent to a broken urinal. “This is perfect. Plus, the characters in my books are always kissing in closets.”
“But you’re drunk.”
“Exactly! This could be our only chance.” A moment passes between us.
I step away from him, my back now pressed against the urinal as the realization hits me. “You don’t want to kiss me?”
“I do!” He pulls me closer toward him. “This is just…not how I imagined kissing you.”
I can’t fight the grin that breaks out across my face. “You’ve imagined it.”
He looks down at his feet. “Yeah.” When he looks back up, his cheeks are slightly red. “I have.”
“I have, too,” I confess. “And if we both want this…” I lean closer to
him. “We should do it now.”
While I still have the courage.
I move to kiss him again, and for the second time, he pulls away. He
stares at me, wide-eyed and blinking.
I think…I think I want to die.
“I think we should go get some water,” he suggests.
I do want to die.
“Okay,” I agree quickly, pushing past him to open the door. I can’t bring myself to look at him. Unwanted visuals of him backing away from me not once but twice play on repeat in my mind.
I open the door, prepared to run as far away from this closet as I can get, only to come face-to-face with Ethan as he steps out of the men’s restroom.
“I was looking for y—” he starts, but cuts himself off abruptly when he notices the second party emerging from the closet.
His jaw hits the floor. The door shuts behind me.
“Uh,” I hear Matthew mumble. “Be right back with the water.” I listen closely to the sound of his footsteps shuffling in the direction of the bar.
Ethan stares at me in stunned silence, breaking his personal record for the longest he’s ever gone without speaking.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I tell him, and although I’ve always wanted to be able to say that, it does nothing to make me feel better about this
moment.
“You have a hickey on your neck.”
“Huh?” I reach to the spot Ethan’s pointing at, just above my right collarbone, and that’s when I feel it. A raised patch of skin that begins to itch as soon as I make contact with it. And I must’ve been too busy making a fool of myself to notice the same itching sensation breaking out across my legs, too.
“There you are!” Dad shouts as he rounds the corner. “Your mother sent me to find you. Speeches are starting soon.”
Against my best interests, I begin to scratch. First at my neck, and then at my legs. I can’t help it. Over the course of the past minute, since I discovered the first spot, the itching has become unbearable.
“Phoebe?” Dad looks down at me, at the spot on my neck. “Ah.” He nods. “Ethan, would you mind telling Jodi we’ll be there in a few minutes?”
Ethan nods and disappears.
This is not the first time this has happened. I’ve been known to break out in hives when I’m under extreme stress. Usually, all it takes is some time
away from whatever situation is causing me distress, and the hives go away on their own. But I don’t have time. I have a speech to give, and I can feel the bumps beginning to spread up my neck and onto my jawline. Jamie cannot have a maid of honor who looks like she just got stung by thousands of bees.
Although that would be strikingly close to a particularly thrilling scene from Beauty and the Beekeeper. But now is not the time for that.
“Let’s step in here for a second.” Dad opens the door to the janitor’s closet and drags me back into the last place I want to be. He leans against the shelf of supplies and crosses his arms. “What’s going on, Pheebs?”
I’m not sure if it’s the worry in his soft brown eyes that look so much like my own, the comforting smell of his aftershave covering up the smell of bleach, or maybe just the fact that it’s been a long time coming, but I unleash.
“There is something wrong with me, Dad.” I can already taste the salt from my tears. “I’m going to be thirty in less than twenty days and I have the romantic experience of a middle schooler. Jamie is married and I’m over here panicking and vomiting at the thought of going on a date with Matthew.”
He looks at me questioningly.
“The photographer. We know each other, and have actually planned to meet up a few times before, but…” I look down at my feet.
Dad finishes my sentence for me. “You panicked?”
I nod. “And I’m pretty sure I just ruined any chance I had with him, which is a shame because…I really like him.”
I take a breath for the first time, and Dad hands me a handful of toilet paper to wipe away my tears.
“And things aren’t great back in LA, either,” I continue. “Jonathan might have a girlfriend.” I hiccup. “And he’s being kind of weird. I don’t know what’s going on with him. I know you thought we’d end up together. Maybe I thought that, too. I don’t know. And I don’t like not knowing.”
Dad presses a fresh wad of toilet paper against my nose.
“Blow,” he says with a mixture of kindness and firmness. I do as he says.
“And—” I fight off another hiccup. “The guy I was telling everyone about yesterday, at the rehearsal dinner? Finn? I don’t even know how old he is!”
I plop down onto an upside-down crate and place my head in my hands, having thoroughly exhausted myself. Dad crouches next to me, placing a reassuring hand on my back. He doesn’t say anything right away, but he doesn’t have to. His presence is soothing enough.
After a moment of silence punctuated by the sound of my lingering sniffles, he speaks.
“Did I ever tell you about my first date with your mother? I was so nervous, Phoebe, I didn’t think I’d ever stop puking. I ended up being thirty minutes late because of how long it took me to get myself together,” he says, smiling.
My head jerks up. “You’ve never told me that.”
“I guess I never thought much of it.” He shrugs. “I thought it was pretty normal. Anxiety is normal, Pheebs, and us Bermans come from a long line of
nervous pukers.”
I laugh. How has he never told me this?
“There’s nothing wrong with you, Phoebe. And if there is, then there’s something wrong with me, too.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you, you’re the best.”
“I agree.” He smiles again. “And so are you.”
I don’t know why I feel compelled to say this next part, but it comes out before I have the chance to stop it. Maybe I want to prove Dad wrong. That there is something wrong with me. Or maybe it’s because I’ve been more honest with him in these past few minutes than I have been with myself in a long time, and it feels good.
“I’m about to be a thirty-year-old virgin, Dad.”
Silence.
And then he grins.
“Why are you smiling?” I ask, and my tone isn’t entirely pleasant. “I’m miserable.”
“I’m sorry,” he says with a laugh, pressing his hand against his chest.
“But that’s not necessarily bad news for me. It cancels out the years your sister spent sneaking Ethan through her window.”
And to think, all this time he could have been using the front door.
“Your time will come, Phoebe. I know it will.” And the way he says it, with such certainty, I have no choice but to believe him. “In the meantime, take a few deep breaths, wipe your nose, and blow us all away with your
speech.”
He makes his way to the closet door.
“I’m right behind you,” I tell him.
“Love you, kiddo,” he says as he shuts the door behind him.
I take a few deep breaths, clean the mascara from under my eyes, and walk across the hall to the bathroom to assess the state of my skin.
The hives, miraculously, are gone.
—
“You’re next,” Mom whispers in my ear. I’ve spent the last twenty minutes of speeches sipping on the glass of water that was waiting for me at my seat.
Though the room’s no longer spinning, and Dad calmed me down enough to eradicate my hives, I’m still finding it impossible to concentrate.
Every time I look at the speech in my lap, desperately willing myself to focus on the words in front of me, my mind floods with intrusive visions of Matthew: Removing my hands from his face. Shaking his head. Eyes going wide,
blinking rapidly.
Rejection. Rejection. Rejection.
The room bursts into a round of applause, forcing me to snap out of it.
Ethan flies out of his seat, running to his parents, engulfing them in a group
hug.
“Think you can top that?” Jamie asks.
I wouldn’t know. I didn’t hear a word.
“It might be tough,” I answer honestly, scooting my chair back and letting my legs lead me to the mic stand in front of the stage. A high-pitched screech echoes from the speakers as I adjust the mic to my height.
“Awesome,” I mutter to myself. It picks up on the mic. My sweaty palm grasps the stand as I pull it closer. “I’m Phoebe. Jamie’s sister. And Ethan’s sister, too.” I flash a smile in their direction. Jamie’s head rests on Ethan’s shoulder as she looks up at him. He plants a kiss on her nose.
Phoebe, no.
Matthew’s voice blares through my head so loudly that it might as well be coming from the speakers. If what he said was true, that at one point he had imagined kissing me, any hope of that continuing is long gone. I’ve really gone and done it this time.
I clear my throat, forgoing the rest of the intro I had planned and diving straight into my speech.
The paper shakes in my hands as I begin. “It was a rainy May afternoon when Jamie mentioned Ethan to me for the first time.” I’m distracted by the sound of my own rapidly beating heart. Public speaking has always been one of my strong suits. I love the rush that accompanies standing in front of the classroom to teach a lesson. I get high off the adrenaline that buzzes through me while leading faculty meetings. So why, now, is my throat starting to constrict?
“Uh.” The edges of my vision begin to blur, making it nearly impossible to make out my next line. “I had just picked her up from…eighth-grade track
practice….”
A slight ringing begins in my left ear.
“Actually, it was ninth-grade practice. I had just picked her up from ninth-grade track practice.”
I squint, trying to make out the words in front of me.
“Wait. It was eighth grade. I was right the first time.”
A few nervous chuckles from the crowd.
I clear my throat, trying to mitigate the growing lump.
“Woo-hoo!” I follow the shout to the back of the room, where I see a champagne glass raised high in the air. Matthew smiles at me, giving me a
thumbs-up with his free hand.
Maybe he doesn’t hate me?
I look over to my family, where everyone seems to be squirming uncomfortably. Except Jamie. She’s completely at ease, radiating the essence of calm she always has. She gives me an encouraging nod. I return it, folding the paper in my hands and placing it on the floor. Thanks to the millions of times I practiced it, I’m pretty sure I could do this speech backward if I really wanted to, anyway.
I look at Jamie, only Jamie, and deliver the rest of the speech without a hitch.
